Whistle
by KTEW
Summary: How can bad things can keep you from worse? Just ask Whistle. OC-centric


Everyone looks at me with pity. Or like I'm some delicate little girl. I know I'm younger than most of the others, but that's no reason to think I can't handle myself. And as for the pity; despite everything I've been through, I try to be positive. What have I been through? Well…

My mom died while she was having me. It's not like in most of those stories, where the dad blames the kid for killing his or her mom.

Mine just went insane.

He hurt me. So much that I was used to it. It still hurt, but maybe not as much as it should have. I'd become… numb.

And then one day, he did something else. It wasn't just hitting me, like he usually did.

He… Well…

Bee says it almost happened to her, too. Before Jet saved her. But there was no one to save me.

It was the worst pain I'd ever felt. The next day, when I got up, I couldn't step on my left leg. It hurt too much.

He was hiding behind a bottle, again. When I got to the kitchen, where he was slumped over the table, he cussed me out and collapsed. I knew he was just asleep.

So I went outside. It wasn't often I could do that, but it wasn't often he wasn't hitting me.

I went into the woods surrounding our little village, using a handhold the whole time so I wouldn't fall flat on my face.

There was a little pond a few hundred yards in. I sat down next to it, dress pulled up a few inches and legs dangling in the water. I saw a bit of blood flow out of one or two still-bleeding cuts and started gently rubbing off what had dried on.

Then I noticed the upper part of my left leg was bleeding. I pulled up the hem of my dress just enough to see a gash at least three inches long and one deep. I assumed he'd clawed me there.

I forced myself up and over to the small pile of bandages I'd manage to steal on mornings like this. I took a few and bound my leg tightly enough to stop the bleeding. The pressure was surprisingly welcome.

I limped back over to the pond and sat down again. I leaned over and looked at myself.

My bangs were getting in my eyes again. I needed to chop them off soon. He'd used a candle last night to force me into what he wanted, even though I would've done it, anyway. What other choice did I have? So now at least two inches of my hair had been singed off. I could feel the burns on my back and see them on my right cheek, left wrist, and legs. I saw heat blisters on my upper right arm, left knee, and the heel of my right foot, though I don't know how that one happened. I saw scars, some from the night before, some from years ago, next to my right eye and on my left cheek, the right side of my neck, my upper left arm, my lower right arm, and my right ankle. My dress was a wreck. The sleeves, hem, and collar were all scratched up. I had at least three patches that I'd had to take the time and effort to sew on. And then there were my teeth. I'd lost one of my two front teeth a few weeks ago, and my dad had knocked the other one out a few days after.

I was a wreck.

Sometimes I wished I could run away; just be free of it all. But where else could I go?

And then I heard the screaming.

By the time I managed to get up and limp to the tree line, everything was burning or ash and the last soldiers were leaving. I waited to make sure they were all gone, then limped out into the smoldering rubble.

I hobbled over to the remains of my house. They'd stopped smoking.

I saw the half-skeletal hand poking out of the ruins and knelt down next to it.

I felt nothing. Not sad, but not happy, either.

Altogether, with everything burning down, everyone dead, I was a bit sad, but only because I didn't have anywhere else to go. The few people who knew I existed didn't care about what happened to me.

I heard footsteps. Running footsteps, coming from the forest.

I scrambled behind a still-standing piece of wall and peeked around it.

A girl–although there was nothing feminine about her, I knew it was a girl–with shaggy brown hair, black-rimmed eyes half-hidden under a blue bandana, and red stripes on either cheek swung down from the trees and looked around. An expressionless boy in a rice patty hat swung down next to her.

"We're too late. Again," the girl whispered, looking downtrodden. The boy put his hand on her shoulder and looked at her.

She sighed. "I know."

My head tilted to the side, wondering what he'd said. But I had the weird feeling I could trust them.

Two girls skidded out, showing me the source of the footsteps. One was a few years older than me and was blonde with a scar running down her face. I guess that didn't affect me as much as other people. The other girl had brown hair up in pigtails, even though she looked too old for it, freckles, glasses, and a weird-looking necklace. I could tell they were both a little out of breath.

The blonde raised her head and looked around. I thought I could see tears forming in her eyes.

"We're too late?" she said, almost in disbelief.

The pigtailed girl reached out to her, only to be cut off my two more girls running in and stopping so fast they almost fell on their faces.

One had almost red hair and a burn on her neck and the other was dark and pudgy, with short hair and another weird-looking necklace.

The redhead straightened up and glared at the blonde. "I told you to wait up!" she yelled.

She didn't look at her. The redhead looked in the same direction as her and her face fell.

"Not again," the darker girl whispered.

"This wouldn't've happened if Jet was still here," the first girl said, looking like she'd stumbled on a bad memory. I knew that feeling. "He was always in time."

"It wasn't your fault," the girl with the pigtails said, sounding like she'd heard it a million times.

"Don't worry," I spoke up, grabbing a handhold and trying to stand. "There wasn't much to save." I managed to get up and limped out from behind the piece of wall.

The six of them were staring at me.

I could see the darker girl tracing my scars with her eyes. The blonde and redhead looked almost angry. The girl with the pigtails looked down, fiddling with her necklace. The boy was looking back at the girl with the bandana, who took a step toward me. She opened her mouth to speak, but the redhead butt in.

"Who did this to you?" she said through her teeth. The blonde had turned from angry to tears.

"You know who," the girl with the bandana said, coldly.

"No," the girl with the pigtails said, looking back up at me. "They're too old."

"My father did it," I said, limping closer.

That seemed to shock all six of them. The redhead and blonde glanced at each other. For all my little observances, I'd just noticed how similar they looked.

"So you're alone?" the darker girl said quietly.

I nodded.

The girl in the bandana took over again. I could tell she was in charge, and just getting used to it.

"You wanna come with us?" she asked.

Somewhere to go? That's what I'd been wanting. And they seemed nice.

I nodded.

She smiled. "I'm Smellerbee. He's Longshot." She pointed to the boy.

"Honey," the blonde said, smiling sadly, tears still in her eyes.

"Cinnamon," the redhead said, hovering over her.

"Granyt," the girl with the pigtails said, pushing her glasses up her nose.

"Jewels," the darker girl said, smiling.

I smiled. "I'm–"

"Wait," Smellerbee said. She walked toward me and kneeled down so she was level with me.

I giggled, confused. The sound caught in my throat. I coughed, then noticed everyone looking concerned. "'S okay," I said, shaking it off. The S made almost a whistling sound.

Smellerbee smiled. "Whistle."

I smiled again, not exactly getting why I got a new name, but liking it. It was like a second chance.

She straightened up and took my hand. "C'mon," she said.

She led me to the others and the seven of us walked into the forest.

And, for me, maybe into a new beginning.


End file.
